


Crowned by Scattered Lights

by Nosferlife



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: BSDM, Blindfolds, Blood, Caning, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Rope Bondage, abuse of disciplines for the purposes of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 02:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nosferlife/pseuds/Nosferlife
Summary: Sebastian has the sarcophagus within his grasp, and Strauss helps him unwind after a long day of meetingsAlternatively, I read the page on Thaumaturgy and some of it sounded like fun for LaCroix, and Strauss hasn't had nearly enough action, so here's some vampire banging, enjoy!





	Crowned by Scattered Lights

The meeting dragged on, the Toreador primogen speaking at unnecessary lengths of the current petty feuds within her clan, and somehow making it seem to be the fault of the Nosferatu. LaCroix glanced away from her and met Strauss’s eyes. He held his gaze, his face an indecipherable mask, before LaCroix returned his attention to the toreador. Gary claimed innocence, of course, leaving the Prince to placate the angered kindred. He carefully concealed his frustration at the derailing of the meeting and convinced her he would investigate thoroughly.  
Somehow, of course, the discussion turned to the sarcophagus, with the primogen all making barely-concealed demands to know more about it- its contents, its past, its future. Satisfying their curiosities enough to avoid causing offence without giving too much important information away took all his concentration and an unfortunate amount of time, but at last, he could dismiss the meeting.

‘That will be all then. Regent, if I may speak with you privately? To the rest of you - good evening.’ Strauss, of course, waited as the other primogen left the opulent office, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them. The Sheriff knew by now to leave two of them alone, the door closing with a swish, the silence punctuated only by the gently ticking clock.

LaCroix turned to gaze out over the city, sky choked with storm clouds ready to break. He heard the Regent rise from his seat and felt his familiar presence as he stood behind him, his reflection in the dark glass of the window gaunt yet regal, crowned by the scattered lights outside. They watched the movements of the city together, kine living out their fleeting lives, unaware of the ever-changing flow of power around them. 

LaCroix felt the ghostly touch of Auspex brush his mind, the sensation only recognisable after becoming so very familiar. He tried to control his racing thoughts, self-conscious of his scattered whims as Strauss inspected him from the inside, calculating what exactly to do next. The rising tide of anticipation threatened to become suffocating, until at last the elder pulled away, leaving him suddenly alone in his own thoughts.

The Regent clears his throat, softly, and LaCroix turns to face him, their eyes meeting over the Tremere’s glasses. Both wearing a mask of unreadable blankness.  
Strauss was the first one to speak.

‘Strip, neonate.’ He hesitates, hands twitching at his sides, then pausing minutely on the way to start unbuttoning his coat. The deliberate use of the wrong title was galling, to say the least, but it also promised a night free of his usual burdens and responsibility. Is this what he wants, now? He could easily refuse, ask for something less… unusual. But the Regent knows him, knows his mind, what he wants. Of course he does. This must be what he really wants, he’s just too distracted to see it yet. To set his heavy crown aside, for a while, to relent, submit.

He folded his coat, setting it neatly on the centre of the small, ornate table between the windows. His tie followed, folded in half once and laid across his coat, then the cool air of his office washed over his skin as he slid his shirt off, the indulgently expensive fabric gliding smoothly across his gaunt skin. He knew no one could possibly see him, yet still the watchful weight of the city’s eyes raked over him through the window. He laid the shirt across his coat, not willing to take the time to fold it properly, and left his shoes neatly under the table. His trousers he did fold, and set atop the pile, followed by his gartered socks. He hesitated again, for a fraction of a second, before removing his underwear and standing at his full height, exposed to the large room and the watchful gaze of his lover.

He knelt, obedient, base desires warring with centuries of sculpted poise, hard-won respectability washed away in seconds. He let himself enjoy the feeling, the powerlessness. Eyes downcast, hands on his thighs, patient. 

The Regent manifested ropes binding his wrists together tightly, then with a flick of his wrist jerked his bound wrists above his head, forcing him to his feet and pinning him to the window behind him, the cold wood of the central support digging into his back. He allowed blood to fill his cock, and met Strauss’s eyes, confident in the allure of the image he must make. He was not mistaken in his pride; Strauss, for all his impeccably schooled calm, was not unaffected. Sebastian was stretched taut, lean muscle and long lines, his unnaturally pale skin contrasting sharply with the night sky and thin deep red ropes at his wrists. 

More ropes slithered down his arms, binding his forearms together and circling his upper arms, then snaking across his chest, tightening until they were not quite painful, but impossible to ignore. The Regent’s face slightly pinched in concentration was the only sign of the intense focus it took to so intricately control his blood magic, as he extended the ropes across his hips and down his legs, forcing his feet apart as they went. LaCroix got one last glance at the Regent’s face – showing the barest hint of satisfaction – before he conjured a blindfold over his eyes. Without eye contact, he was so much more vulnerable, amplifying the feeling that he was at the other kindred’s mercy. 

He felt tendrils of Auspex exploring his mind, the intensely intimate feeling of his most shameful fantasies being explored inside his head sent another rush of arousal through him. Strauss ran his hand lightly up his side, over the ridges the rope made over his skin. His soft gloves, so much smoother than the texture of skin, felt utterly inhuman without the warmth of a living body inside. LaCroix shuddered, the fingertips running possessively over his torso feeling utterly divorced from any sensation produced by a living man, especially in such an intimate situation. The realisation should not have left him so desperate already, but he could not deny how much he loved this.

His hands ran up to firmly, clinically, tease his nipples, his cold touch electrifying. The stillness of the air in the room, undisturbed by his lover’s breath, left his skin aching for touch. He moaned, low and shameless, as the Regent wrapped one cold, gloved hand around his erection, squeezing near the base and sliding torturously slow towards the tip. The velvety grip was too hard and yet not enough, the soft material reducing friction to almost nothing as he ran his thumb over the tip, then pressed it hard against his slit. The sensation so much, he gasped and cried out, hips stuttering, the last of his dignity long gone now. 

Another rope came to snake around and between his balls, and he couldn’t help but whimper as it looped around his cock just hard enough that he knew he wouldn’t be able to come, no matter what the Regent did to him. He slowly stroked his cock twice more, then used Thaumaturgy to lift him by the ropes binding him. He turned him and pinned him with his forearms are held against the window frame at hip height, forcing him to bend over until his muscles strain. The rope looped twice more around his cock, and LaCroix can’t help but gasp as it tightened just under the head.

He felt the slight movements in the air and quiet footfalls as Strauss steps slightly further away. The feeling of Auspex in his mind intensified and he heard Strauss take a breath. ‘You have failed me, Neonate,’ his rich voice sends shivers up his spine, his imperious tone filling him with the best kind of shame, ‘and as such I will punish you. You clearly need more motivation to avoid disappointing me in future, Sebastian.’ He shouldn’t let Strauss talk to him like this, even now, but it’s so hard to think anymore, and so easy to just let the older kindred take over.

Strauss ran something – cylindrical, indeterminately long, thinner than a finger - up the outside of LaCroix’s now-trembling thigh, sending a bolt of exhilarating fear through him. A riding crop? No, a cane. About to be beaten like an unruly child. He knew the Tremere would know exactly how he felt, and the shame of being so helpless and nervous at something as mundane as physical pain combined perfectly with the shame of just how much he was getting off on this. ‘I expect you to count each strike, to five. Do not disappoint me again, neonate, I shall not show such leniency in future.’

All thoughts of protesting his disrespectful language slipped away, replaced with searing anticipation.

The first strike a sharp, stinging line of pain over the tight muscles of his ass, a resounding crack filled the room. ‘One,’ he managed.

Crack. Another burning line, just above the first, perfectly parallel. He inhaled sharply at the force of the blow. ‘Two.’ 

Crack. He gasped audibly, despite promising himself he wouldn’t make a sound. ‘Three.’ It’s too much – please - 

Crack. This time, he couldn’t quite help a broken whine from rising in his throat, his control slipping so easily away so shameful. ‘Four.’ It’s too much – I’ll break – I can’t - 

Crack. He cried out, a broken sound full of his rising pain. The last strike landed perfectly over the first, and he had to take several shuddering, gasping breaths before he could finally manage a whispered ‘Five.’ It was impossible to be sure but it felt as though the skin had been broken by the final strike.

Crimson vitae pooled sluggishly in the indent the cane left in his skin before running down the backs of his trembling thighs. He bacame dimly aware of the Regent murmuring praise to him, telling him he took it so well, as he ran his hands softly over his sides. As the burning of the welts across his ass started to subside, his aching arousal became more pressing, conflicting sensations forcing a low whine from his lips.

The snap of lube being uncapped made him shudder with anticipation, back arching despite the movement pulling another bright drop of blood to run down his thigh. Strauss caught the droplet with his thumb, soaking into his glove, and he spread it against the lowest welt, bright red smudging over the pale skin, now angry pink and quickly blooming blue and purple. He presses into the touch, despite the stinging bruises.

LaCroix expected the Regent's cool fingers to start to work him open, but instead the broad, slicked underside of his cock slid over his hole. His breath caught, the anticipation leaving him unable to even think. The blunt tip pushed against his rim, and he forced himself to relax until the head forced inside. There was plenty of lube, but the sudden stretch burned, a deep groan rising from his chest before he could stop it. Strauss sank deeper, never giving him quite long enough to adjust, making himself feel huge inside him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he was filled, completely unable to move and unable to decide if he wanted to pull himself away or thrust his hips back to meet him, until at last the slow slide ground to a halt as Strauss pressed into the fresh welts on his ass.

He was so full, it's intoxicating, his entire consciousness reduced to the exquisite stretch and the deep ache of his abused flesh. Strauss set a steady pace, ruthless, a long, slow drag between each brutal thrust as he spared no thought for his lover as he took his pleasure. Each snap of his hips a burst of gut-wrenching pleasure, the ropes tight around LaCroix’s cock kept him desperately close to his climax without hope of achieving orgasm. His whole body, his pleasure, so utterly at the other kindred’s mercy, reduced to an object to fuck as the elder pleased. 

The Regent glided one hand up to tangle in Sebastian’s hair, pulling harshly until his spine curved to its limit, forcing a harsh cry from his lips. Using the hand in his hair and one on his hip for leverage, the older kindred slammed his hips into the stripes on his ass, spreading the last few drops of vitae into sticky streaks across his pale skin, the stinging pain only fuelling his burning need for release.

At last the Regent took pity on him, as his own orgasm approaching and his relentless pace increasing as he harshly grasped the younger kindred’s cock, his velvety glove allowing even his firm grip to slide unhindered from base to tip as the ropes binding his cock fell away. The released pressure allowed him to finally come, his explosive orgasm tearing through him as the Regent continued to work his cock as thick ropes of come splattered to the floor. 

The Tremere continued to thrust into him, the painful overstimulation cutting through the pleasant daze of satiation. Relief bloomed in his chest as the older man shuddered with his release, thrusts slowing through his orgasm until his thick spend leaked out around his softening cock, dripping down the younger kindred’s trembling thighs.

Strauss gently carried the smaller man to bundle him into his lap in the Prince’s chair, one by one allowing the objects he had manifested to dissipate. He gently cleaned away the drying seed, cradling Sebastian’s spent body to his chest. 

‘The necessary preparations for the safekeeping of the sarcophagus have been made. I am sure you will not delay entrusting its safekeeping to me.’ Sebastian’s warm haze of post-coital satisfaction immediately shattered, and he rose and quickly started to dress, movements still ever so slightly faltering and clumsy.

‘Why should I? It is safely under Camarilla protection, my Sheriff is more than capable of defending it, should the need arise.’ His usual eloquence slipped just out of reach, the words coming out too brusque, defensive.

‘Give it to me.’ Strauss’s eyes were so piercingly blue in the low light of the room.

‘I…I’ll let you keep it, yes…’ he trailed off, his tie still slightly crooked, despite his usually fastidious attention to detail.

‘Excellent. I’ll take care of it, then.’ Barely a handful of seconds had passed before Strauss’s ghoul and the thrice-damned Fledgling burst through the doors, and in less than half a minute, the two of them and the sarcophagus were gone. Strauss didn’t even turn and look back before he swept out of the room after them, leaving LaCroix to slump, reeling, back into his chair, so very alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Strauss was so hard to write but I finally managed to finish this! It was a lot of fun and I hope you enjoyed reading, please tell me what you thinkand feel free to give critiques too if you'd like :>
> 
> Also I have no idea if thaumaturgy could really be used so much in such a short space of time but Strauss is at least 7th generation, so maybe?


End file.
